It’s Thursday morning and I don’t work today. So, I’m
sitting at Nina’s Coffee Café and for about ten minutes, I’ve been staring at a
blank screen. More than a few times I’ve wondered if I’ve written every
terrible story, every frightening twist, and each minute detail. I don’t
believe that I have, but some things are better left unsaid, and my memory is
not capable of remembering blackout moments along with other periods of drugged
stupor. So, where does that leave us? In very capable hands, that’s where.
There is a lot going on in my life, and you can live vicariously through me,
through these posts. You are lucky to not have to experience most of these
things yourself; you should be thanking me. Better yet, you should be paying
me!
On my first day on the job, one of my tasks was to make a
bourbon brine and a glaze for a pork roast that would eventually feed about 100
people. So, my first question was, “Where’s the bourbon?” And just like that,
the chef handed me a bottle of whiskey. There’s nothing in the world I’ve ever
come across that feels like a bottle of booze in your hand; you know what you’re
holding. To my dismay, the idea to hide in a closet and make a brine in my
stomach did not occur, nor did any feelings of guilt or contempt come with such
a potential burden. All I thought was how great it was to cook with alcohol
again. Maybe I had a few cutaways of me doing hilarious things while under the
influence at the workplace.
For example, when I worked at Pedal Pusher Café in
Lanesboro, I had a tendency to show up drunk, like, every day. I preferred to
drink in the morning, and I didn’t work until the afternoon during which I also
enjoyed adult beverages. On more than one occasion, I woke up at 5pm, four
hours late for work. On one very memorable occasion, I woke up with a spatula
in my hand, and all of my coworkers were staring at me. I had apparently walked
into work in a blackout and started flipping the burgers off of the back of the
grill, on to the floor. An associate accidentally shoved me out of the way and
grabbed the spatula from me and I told everybody I was then done working for
the night and I retired to the local pub where I could tell everybody what a
long day I had at work. The bartender laughed at me and said I had left no more
than 20 minutes before, saying I needed a nap before work.
I thought of that day as I held that bottle in my hand and
it disgusted me. That bottle transforms me into a monster, incapable of
self-control, and very capable of harming myself and others. But I really do
like cooking with alcohol. Of course, all the good stuff is almost always
heated out of whatever recipe is being created, and this case was no different.
So, instead of pouring the bottle down my throat, I poured equal parts into a
hotel pan, and a sauce pan, and continued what I had already started forming in
my head. I didn’t get to try the bourbon-maple pork loin until the next day,
but I truly believe it was the best I had ever tasted. It was nice to have the
time and unlimited resources to craft something so wonderful.
There will be a lot of tests, as there always are in a
kitchen, but I’m well prepared. There’s a reason I didn’t want to get back into
that environment right out of the joint, and I’m glad I waited. I’m far more
capable of handling every situation that comes my way, every day, because of
everything I’ve done for myself since my release. And as long as I keep in fit,
spiritual condition, I don’t believe I’ll run into any major setbacks.
